


Hymn For The Missing

by eowells



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, coming home, sad gay sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:17:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eowells/pseuds/eowells
Summary: Vincent returns home, only to find he's the only one there* rip me this is my first work here also insp. by hymn for the missing by red *





	Hymn For The Missing

Vincent found himself grinning widely as he headed down the spiral staircase. Each step brought him closer to the man who’d gotten him to Titan in the first place. When he reached the last step, he found himself unable to find Eugene. Perhaps he was hungover in the next room. Vincent laughed a little, he could clearly imagine his friend shitting there, slumped over with a wine glass resting loosely in between his middle and pointer fingers on his upturned palm that gently sat atop the armrest on his wheelchair. Of course even he would make being blackout drunk look gentlemanly. Flawless, even. His white dress shirt would still be crisp and stainless, the top buttons twisted away from the holes in the fabric on the opposite side, leaving just enough of a gap to expose his collar bones. Not a single hair would be out of place on the man’s head either. That had always been a pet peeve of Eugene’s. 

After placing his luggage down, Vincent headed into the bedroom, eyes sweeping the room for any sign of Eugene. He was saddened to find the room empty. The sheets still tight on the bed looked as if they hadn’t been touched since the day Vincent left. 

“Eugene?” He called out for his friend, growing discouraged when only silence met his words.

He wandered from the room, his mind toying with the idea that Eugene could be waiting to surprise him. He grew more and more sure that Eugene would roll around from a corner any minute now and make some witty comment about how quiet the house was without Vincent to disturb him as he walked from room to room. Though that seemed to all come to a sudden, crashing stop when he found himself staring at an empty wheelchair sitting in front of the incinerator. A forced laugh escaped his lips as he spun on his heels, praying for this to be some kind of sick joke brought on by Eugene’s drunken humor. 

“Eugene, man,” He laughed again, letting forced annoyance overtake the worry in his voice, “This isn’t funny. Eugene, where are you?”

The knot in his stomach began to twist as he faced the wheelchair once again. He could feel his heart beginning to race as morbid curiosity drew him closer to the dust covered chair he’d become all too familiar with. His fingertips brushed against the arm rest when he was close enough to touch the chair. He dragged his fingers down the metal bars, feeling dust gather beneath his fingers and tears wet his eyes. 

“Eugene?” This time he was desperate, calling out to the silence that surrounded him, “Please…”

His feet gave way from under him, his knees hitting the floor. His hands curled tightly around the bars of the wheelchair, knuckles turning white from the strength of his grip. This had to be a sick, twisted joke that Eugene had come up with. This couldn’t be real. Perhaps Eugene had left for the night. He was probably at some hotel, cheekily smiling at the women he’d bought drinks for just hours ago. He’d be making snide remarks that would just seemed to add to his devilish charm, blinking his beautiful blue eyes for show. He would pretend to be bored as his shirt was unbuttoned for him, commenting at how it would take his grandma less time to get a shirt off. They’d find his remarks endearing in a sense. 

This just couldn’t be real. How could Eugene do this, if he had indeed done this? He rose from the floor, slowly and on shaking legs, he headed for his old bedroom. He paused just before reaching the door, his lips flattening into a line. He hated to admit it, but he needed Eugene. His hand rose into his hair, fingers twisting into the messy dark strands as he turned from the door and walked to Eugene’s room. Tears trailed down his cheeks, it was hard to be alone tonight with just an empty room and empty wheelchair to welcome him home when he was expecting an arrogant prick with a drinking problem. Maybe this was punishment for leaving the only person he cared about for so long. 

As he wandered closer to Eugene’s bed, still hesitant to disturb the neatness of it, he found himself remembering the night he had to get Eugene in bed himself after they’d both been drinking. The night itself was fuzzy, but Vincent could clearly remember the closeness of their bodies and hot breath on his neck as he laid Eugene down. His hands balled into fists as the feeling of his hands caressing Eugene’s back tingled his palms. His face grew red as he drew back the bed sheets, wishing he wasn’t alone tonight and praying he wouldn’t be alone. He needed for his friend to still be there for him. Eugene was the only one that believed in him. The only one that cared. 

Vincent slipped into Eugene’s bed and had to force down the lump in his throat when the smell of Eugene’s cologne drifted to his nostrils. His eyes screwed shut as he laid back with a silent prayer on his lips. He cared for the man more than he would like to admit. Eugene was more than just the cripple Vincent had become. He’d taken Eugene’s body from him, his identity. Though Eugene would argue those had been taken from him long ago. As Vincent laid in Eugene’s bed, he could feel the world beginning to break around him. Deep down he knew the wheelchair in front of the incinerator wasn't just some cleverly placed joke. 

A tear slipped from his eye to the pillow beneath his head. He knew something was wrong the minute he opened Eugene’s parting gift to him, he just never wanted to believe it. He wanted the man to be there when he returned, but now Vincent was home and laying alone in the bed he always wanted to share with the other man. Maybe this was fate. Maybe he was fated to fall in love with thins man only to have him ripped away just like every opportunity that came before him. Vincent drew in a sharp breath as the tears began to fall more rapidly. This world was an unfair one, a cruel one. His face contorted as he began to sob, his hands grasping wildly at the covers. He’d never have the chance to kiss Eugene, his friend, his crush. 

Calling Eugene a crush made Vincent sound like a teenager. The way Eugene had made him feel certainly had him thinking he was. He’d give anything to not be alone in this bed. He’d give anything to have that fucking prick beside him tonight. The way Eugene wrapped his arms around Vincent’s neck whenever he needed to be picked up would haunt Vincent until the end of time. Those brooding blue eyes behind cigarette smoke also forever burned into Vincent’s mind. Vincent twisted to the side, his sobs becoming increasingly more violent the more he thought about what he’d lost. Eugene never stuck him as very sad, but then again depression had been weeded out of his perfect genetics, how could he be?

The sheets twisted as Vincent shot up, tears streaming down his cheeks. Was this his fault? Was the pain of losing him just too much for Eugene to bear, even if only for a year? Or did he think this borrowed ladder had run its course and there was no longer any need for the host. That couldn't be any further from the truth for Vincent. He cared for his friend, possibly even too much.

“I love you,” Vincent whispered to the dark room, his voice thick with tears, “I love you, Jerome Eugene Morrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is like a 4 am drabble and i've never used this platform and this fandom is so small so why not?


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